


a murderer goes home

by quickmanifyouloveme



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Multi, My first fanfiction in seven months and it's a rarepair, Valentine's Day, a rather bloody one, laughing at myself constantly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-28
Updated: 2013-03-28
Packaged: 2017-12-06 18:11:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/738620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quickmanifyouloveme/pseuds/quickmanifyouloveme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Montparnasse goes home to Courfeyrac and Jehan after a hit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a murderer goes home

there must be so many people who’ve screamed and scrambled and dragged their bodies across the ground as hooded captors pulled them forward, dirt and blood caking under their bodies nails and fingers and wrists and spirits broken, clothes cut or torn off, tongues yanked out, eyes and jaws crushed by thick black boots

            --you shlep across paris at midnight, two minutes into valentine’s day. you steal a bouquet hanging from a store window. you pluck some wild flowers from the seine as well and stuff them in the bouquet with the roses lilacs lilies whatever they’re called, fucking flowers, and you pluck two boxes of chocolates from a cart, red like that hussie’s blood, brown like her hair. you don’t look at your boots.

            you finally get to Jehan’s apartment at around one; you would climb through the window but it’s locked and you can’t balance fucking flowers and chocolates while correcting that situation, so you kick the door until Courfeyrac opens it. your boot swings toward his crotch--partially an accident, mostly a joke--and he blocks it with a book, grinning.

            “Not this time, Parnasse.”

            you grimace and shake the chocolate boxes to redirect his attention. “Will you be a fucking gentleman and take this shit?”

            “ _Oh,_ gladly. I hope our resident serial killer got the good stuff.” he takes both boxes and winks, then jerks his head toward the kitchen and mouths _flowers for Jehan?_

you mouth _no shit_ and step into the kitchen--Jehan’s apartment is tiny but it’s not like you have anything besides the streets and Courfeyrac besides his dorm--where Jehan stands at the counter, head ducked, eyes scrunched in frustration as he molds icing on top of a cupcake. you set the flowers on the counter and he jumps the littlest bit, barely an inhale, before his shoulders drop and he leans into your hands on his hips. he smiles. it’s the best thing you’ve seen all night.

            “Cupcakes at one in the morning?” you whisper, resting your chin on the top of his head. he may be the tiniest person alive, Courfeyrac has sworn to confirm it.

            “Flowers at one in the morning?” he retorts. he tilts his head up for a kiss and then returns to the icing. scattered on the floor are empty packets, red and pink icing clinging to the tips, and in the sink are heart and flower molds. you take a flower from the bouquet, something thin and purple, and tuck it into his braid as he concentrates on whatever he’s doing now, without a mold.

            Courfeyrac waltzes in holding what’s left of his own cupcake--chocolate with white chocolate icing, most likely in the shape of a heart. his face is smeared with pastry and candy hearts and whatever else he’s gotten into, and he sticks his tongue out at you and grins.

            “Want a piece of the Courf? I have it on good authority I taste fantastic right now.” he wiggles his eyebrows and you poke him in the chest, fighting a smile, like you always are around him. he pinches your cheeks, fingers covered in icing and what looks like peanut butter, and he pulls the corners of your mouth up. you don’t remember the woman you killed tonight laughing like he is. you don’t.

            “Whose authority, huh? The street cat’s, the old woman’s upstairs?” you roll your eyes at him and Courfeyrac just leans in and kisses you, right there, cherry-stained tongue and everything.

            “No sex in the kitchen, not while I’m baking,” teases Jehan, blushing a little. his eyes dart between you two and the counter, and you’d let Courfeyrac go further if you hadn’t actually _seen_ what Jehan was doing.

            “Is that a skull?” you point to the cupcake Jehan’s trying to shield with his dainty, powder-pale, doesn’therealizeyoucouldsnaphiswristinasecond hands, and Courfeyrac licks your cheek and sticks a candy heart to it but you wave him off distractedly. “Is it?”

            Jehan pouts and removes his fucking small hands away from the cupcake, presenting to you in all its glory red velvet sponge topped with dark chocolate icing in the shape of a skull, two black holes staring out at you. “I made myself one with a rose, and Courf a heart, but neither of those suit you and I didn’t have any other molds, so I tried for a skull.” you laugh and run a hand through your hair, tugging on greasy strands. “I’m sorry, is it really that bad?”

            “No, no, no, it’s not bad--“ _it’s just inaccurate, here’s where my bat struck the first time, and the second, there’s where my boot crushed her eye socket, here’s the m i carved into her forehead before the screaming--_

            her shrieks fade as Courfeyrac and Jehan move you to the living room and push you onto the couch, fingers gripping tight, you keep your eyes shut until Courf’s hand cups your face and Jehan coos softly. you open them. you don’t look at your boots, but at your boys. your tangle your fingers in Courfeyrac’s curls and Jehan’s braid.

            “What’s wrong, Montparnasse?” Jehan asks. the flower you tucked into his hair falls onto your lap, stem snapped.

            “Nothing.”

            Courfeyrac scoffs, half-mocking, half-concerned. “Our brave warrior bows to a mere cupcake? Of course nothing’s wrong. Jehan’s baking is terrifying, I know.”

            “Courfeyrac!”

            you smile weakly at them both. “Yeah, that’s it. Never know how old that cream was, or if a cockroach snuck into the batter.” Jehan swats you both playfully, almost smiling.

            “That cream was perfectly fine,” he insists.

            “If you close your eyes.” Courfeyrac teases him like this while you catch your breath, and you’ll thank him for it later, when Jehan’s fast asleep or maybe holed up in his room writing poetry, but right now you just sit back. you inhale, like you never do. you exhale, like she never will.

            “Hey, Parnasse?” Jehan whispers sometime later, when you’re all thrown into his tiny trundle bed.

            “Mm?”

            “Happy Valentine’s Day.” you get a kiss from each of them for your trouble. you smile, just a little.

**Author's Note:**

> My first Les Mis fic and it's for these three  
> God, I love them  
> This will probably be adapted into a play, stay tuned  
> Side note, selective capitalization was meant to highlight Montparnasse's true inner monologue without actually saying, "I live life as a blur and the only good things I have are Courfeyrac and Jehan."


End file.
